


What makes a Family?

by Wynni



Series: The Branbardian Collection [4]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 10:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7571392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynni/pseuds/Wynni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange occurrence one Winterveil's Night leads to a important discovery about what makes a family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. |Winterveil's Tale

Published: Sep 27, 2014 Updated: Sep 29, 2014

Branbera was making her way through Winterspring, enjoying the cold air on her face, when she saw black billowing clouds of smoke off in the distance. Wondering who might need aid, she made her way towards them.

It was all the shaman had hoped it wouldn't be. There were the remains of a homestead, smoldering in ruins, and tracks of furbolgs all about the place. Her keen tauren ears picked up a small sound in the back, heard despite the crackle of flames, blowing wind, and crumbling embers. She carefully picked her way through the wreckage to where the sounds were coming from, and found two small children, gnome by the size of them, huddled in what looked to be a very orcish built bolt hole.

"Peace little ones, I will get you to safety, warmth, and food." She carefully removed the fallen rubble and timbers until she could extract the small ones safely. Once she got them out, she could indeed see that they were a boy and girl, both gnomes. From what she could tell, the whole place had been built by orcs. What were they doing here?

"Momma said stay put. We can't leave till she gets back!" wailed the girl.

"The monsters must have taken her. She won't come back, and neither will Poppy." The boy looked mad, scared, and mutinous all at once. The shaman had to bite back a smile. How many times had she seen the same look on the children in Thunderbluff? Of course, the situations were never this dire, but children are children no matter what the circumstances may be.

"How would you like me to go find Momma and Poppy for you?" Branbera sat down and pulled the children into the shelter of her cloak. She looked both of them straight in their smudged little faces. "I will take you into a big strong town nearby. You will be warm, safe, and fed. My friends will take care of you until I can bring your parents to you. Does that sound alright to you two?"

"Will they be back in time for Winterveil?" The little girl had eyes the color of the lake violets near Bloodhoof.

"I don't know, but I will try." The girl smiled, and she was almost as pretty as a tauren calf. The boy's face still looked like a thundercloud, but then, boys were always less hopeful than girls in her experience. It made it easier to surprise and please them in the end.

Once she had them safely ensconced at the inn in Everlook, she went back to the ruins to track the furbolgs responsible. The tracks did not head off to any of the expected camps she knew. The puzzle seemed to grow more convoluted, but she was a patient shaman, and she had untangled worse fishlines than this before now. As the early Winterspring evening fell, Branbera spotted campfires twinkling through the thick firs. It looked almost peaceful, until the sounds of the furbolg revelry met her ears.

From her vantage point, Bran could see the whole disgusting pageantry unfold in all its gruesome glory. There were the sacrifices, nicely bundled so that no vain attempts at escape could ruin the festivities planned for them, there the priests and shamans of the tribe, resplendent in their bloodstained regalia, and there the entire tribe, ready for the show, between her and the prisoners.

Well, she'd seen worse odds. But she'd had some help then, and then she heard the chimera...a massive wicked grin filled her face. Branbera moved so that she could see the chimera, her three pups, and her mate. If possible, her grin got even wider.

Every shaman carries a special preparation that allows them to survive massive trauma. They can't do it often, but you'd be surprised the number of times a shaman thought dead could get up and turn the tide of battle. So, she prepared herself, gathering all the courage she could muster, because she was about to start a rip roaring fight she knew she wasn't going to survive, at first.

You can imagine the surprise she felt then, when there came a tap on her shoulder. Taurens usually don't jump that high. She turned to see what another orc would assure her was a kindly old face with a long flowing white beard. The ancient figure was wearing robes of holly berry red.

"Your idea might work, youngling, but it won't solve the basic problem." The solemn tones of his voice rumbled deep in his chest; she felt them more than heard them. The vast reaches of knowledge in his eyes glowed like starlight. Branbera knew she stood before an emissary of ages long past and of ages yet to come.

"What would you have me do, Ancient One?" He touched her forehead, and she felt fireflies of energy ripple through her, stirring her hair, and electrifying her soul.

"Sing to them, and the very rocks at their feet will dance to your tune. No need to disturb the chimeras' Winterveil night. They will do your bidding another, more opportune, time."

She closed her eyes as she felt even more energy sweep through her, and when she opened them, the old orc was gone. A side effect of having that much power swishing about her brain was that stray thoughts kept breaking loose and swooping about. For one, a conversation with the Timbermaw kept colliding with one she'd had with a dorf who'd been investigating the changed ones. She shook her head to clear it, and saw a green glow out the corner of one eye. She followed the glow, and found its source.

It was a path, beside a sluggish green stream, leading her up a steep mountainous path. She followed it up quickly, because she could hear the furbolg festivities kicking it up a notch. She was quite sure they hadn't started the sacrifices, because she could still hear the High priests caterwauling benedictions and appeals to their corrupted gods of mayhem. They did seem to be winding down, so she had to pick up the pace.

At the top, she found an entire lake of that disgusting green goo, and the spot where it seeped out into the stream, and rearing its ugly head, the monster that the powers floating about in her head told her was responsible for that awful mess.

"Now." said those voices, and she started to sing. It was a song no shaman trainer or druid had ever taught her; it was a song no person living had ever heard; but it was a song the rocks at her feet knew, and they danced. They danced right down on top of the monster; they danced right down into the streambed; and they danced right down on top of the furbolgs' celebrations, flattening them, literally.

She made her way down to the remains of the furbolgs' camp, and found, to her everlasting relief, that the prison corral was untouched. The surviving guards saw her coming and ran. She wondered what they had seen to make them so afraid of her. Even the prisoners were cowering in the corner.

Of course, watching a tauren sing a mountain down could have an effect on someone.

Branbera searched among the prisoners, and found no gnomes. Every other race seemed to be there, but no gnomes. "Who amongst you claim two small children, a boy and girl, of gnomish descent?" Her words still sounded funny, hollow and echoish. She thought perhaps her ears might still be ringing.

Two orcs stepped forward. Branbera raised an eyebrow. "We claim them, Ancient One. H-how.. how do they fare?" Ancient one? She had to smile at that.

"They wait for you in Everlook, safe at the inn." Perhaps once this power about her wore off, she could get their story. It sounded fit for one of the history tapestries on Elder Rise. Orcs raising gnomes? How interesting.

"Peace to you, this Winterveil Night." She could feel another song welling up within her, so she sang it. She watched the winds whisk all the prisoners away, presumably to their homes. Branbera didn't know. She just sang until the power ran out, and left her at an empty camp, alone.

Except for one more ditty. ... "Jingle bell, Jingle bell, Jingle bell rock..."


	2. Orcs with Pink Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branbera finally gets that story she promised herself in Winterveil's Tale

Published: Sep 27, 2014 Updated: Sep 29, 2014

As she had promised herself, Branbera went back to get the story on these gnomes being raised by orcs. Manric and Doola invited her in, and introduced the children. The boy was Daric and the girl was named Mirra, orcish names, if Branbera had ever heard them.

"How? It must be a story indeed, for never before have I known of such a thing."

Manric laid back in his chair, and eyed Branbera speculatively, as though choosing his words meant more than just a well told tale, but decided the fate of Azeroth. It might, at that. Having come to a decision, he leaned forward and began.

"Never heard of such a thing, have you? Never the story of a calf raised by plains stalkers, or a motherless cub adopted by prowler? I, myself, have heard them, and have witnessed them with these very eyes." He tapped his eyes as if for emphasis, when the glow in them was quite enough. "Not so strange a thing when your own heart howls for a youngling to love, be that youngling orc, tauren, human, or gnome." Here, he turned to watch his children playing in their nook.

It had been prepared as an inviting place to play, perhaps to keep littles out from underfoot? Either way, it had a small table and chairs, toybox, and a rug against cold evenings. Mirra must have felt his eyes, because she chose that moment to grin at him. Branbera felt perhaps few tauren children could have matched that little grin for mischief. She could think of a couple, but still few.

Branbera made herself comfortable and waited. Doola settled down next to Manric and began their story.

"Daric and Mirra have been with us since they were infants, but the tale is older even than that. It began twelve winters ago, when Manric and I still wanted to be famous explorers and heroes for the Horde. We decided to make our name by cleansing Gnomergan and claiming its treasures for the Horde. All I can say now in our defense is that we were young. We have grown wiser, at least, in that respect.

"Gnomergan. Shaman, are you familiar at all with any of the tales of that place?" Doola's eyes were far away and long ago.

"Aye, I have been there twice myself." Branbera answered softly.

"Then you know the horrors that lay there: the pollution, the stench, and the mangled monstrosities that creep and crawl there. We had not gone in fifty feet before we came across the remains of an unsuccessful escape attempt. It looked like the Burning Legions had taken them. That alone was enough to steel our resolves to help any who wanted to escape that cursed place.

"Our resolve was tested that same night. We had just set camp when we heard those mutated things on the hunt. We followed the howls and managed to mislead them enough that we could find who they were hunting first. It was a young gnome, very scared, very alone, and very pregnant.

"She was one of the few that had been trapped in Gnomergan during the fall and had been, against all odds, protected from the fumes and poison. Her family and friends had been stuck there all that time and barely subsisted amongst all these nightmares made real.

"We decided we would get them out. Manric and I kited the monstrosities along until we had destroyed the entire hunt, and then had little Piriani show us the way to her enclave. Manric was so worried about her; he wouldn't let her walk. She had to guide us from the safety of his arms. It caused quite a stir when we arrived at their little camp.

"There were about twenty of them left, and we meant to get them all out safely. We helped them gather the things they would need, and started scouting routes out.  
It appeared that the safest route out was going to be the same route we had followed in and that worried me. Those creatures were by no means smart, but then, they weren't stupid either. I knew something had to be amiss, but I couldn't find what.

"It struck me about a half league from the remains of that last ambushed escape attempt. This was what they were waiting for. Instead of one little gnome, they wanted them all and knew some kind of hope would have to be presented for them to emerge. I stopped them, and told them my fears. So, it was time to ambush the ambushers.

"Being hunters, understanding ambush predetors, Manric and I knew about where they would set their trap. If only we could spring it on them, we might get the little folk out. Piriani's brother showed us one of their weapons: fire water. It's highly flammable, and if in a pressurized bottle, it can explode on impact. They had about thirty of these left.

"Of the twenty gnomes left, only seven were in any real shape for fighting. There were nine that were dead set on helping somehow. It was their salvation we were after, afterall. So we had to modify the plan. To call it a battle is very misleading. It was more like divine retribution being delivered. They were mad, they were armed, and the creatures were totally unprepared. The little folk had them routed in no time. Manric followed the things for a while, to make sure they really were gone, and we went our merry way on out."

Branbera watched the smiles fade from both faces. The real meat of the story was about to unfold, she was sure. Then Manric spoke. . .

"I didn't follow far enough...

"The things were not alone, nor were they even the major threat. No, they were but the hounds of a bigger, nastier, more cruel master. The masters did not like their pets being sent home with scorched tails by mere gnomes, even if those gnomes had help from lowly orcs. Unholy horrors fell on us from the skies.

"We lost six of them in that first volley alone. We got them to cover as fast as we could, and I shot at the damnations until I ran out of ammunition. They hounded and pounded on us for the rest of the night. By morning, there weren't but twelve of the gnomes left.

"Piriani was one of the gnomes that didn't make it. For a while, we thought we might loose her brother, between his grief, anger, and gaping chest wound..." Manric fell silent, Doola laid her hand on his knee, and continued for him.

"I never saw Manric like that, there was a cold, deadly, light in his eyes I never hope to see again. I watched him gather together what fire waters were left, and follow after the masters. Gildegon, Piriani's uncle, went with him."

Manric recovered himself, nodded to Doola, and continued.

"We didn't have far to go. Every place they touched, everywhere they went, it was as if it were outlined in fire before my eyes. So finally, I saw their hidden lair, and it was practically on top of where the Gnomes had been living all this time.

"Gildegon was practically jumping with glee at my elbow. He pointed to the network of tubing on which the nest was built.

" 'There is Piriani's revenge.' he said. 'Set that off with the firewater, and those demons can meet their masters face to face.'

"Using every trick of silence and a few I made up as I went, I snuck up to throwing distance, and set the whole contraption on fire. The explosion was heard as far as Ironforge, I've been told.

"We made a travois for Pilpat, Piriani's brother, and the rest of us limped the rest of the way out with no more troubles. Finding Gadgetzan a little too dry, they finally settled near Booty Bay, where we visit them occasionally." Manric finished his part of the tale, sitting back and stroking Doola's hand.

"But none of this explains how you came by these two children?" Branbera was quite confused by this time.

"Can't you guess, you who speaks to spirits?" Doola smiled. "They are Piriani's."


End file.
